


Locus

by DoctorBilly



Series: Chimæra [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Billyverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2488994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorBilly/pseuds/DoctorBilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story begins a month after the events in 'Lethe'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kolya and Sasha

Billy and Arkady have become seasoned tourists. They have been in Spain for almost a month, spending a day here, two or three days there.

They stay in guest houses when they can, anonymous chain hotels when they need to dye their hair or wash their clothes, the little bouncy-castle tent when there is no alternative.

Billy likes those nights best. He likes the darkness, the feel of another warm body pressed against his back, the pressure grounding him.

Arkady finds those nights disturbing, but doesn't tell Billy. He lies awake, listening to Billy breathing. He doesn't turn over in the sleeping bag and put his arms around him. Instead, he lies back-to-back, matching his breathing to Billy's, unable to sleep.

Billy starts learning a little Spanish. Learns to greet people with " _hola_ " instead of " _allo_ ". He starts collecting beach glass again.

Billy sketches a lot; he likes to draw people, only knows one person in Spain, so Arkady is in many of the sketches. Arkady on the motorcycle; outside the Guggenheim museum and the Alhambra; on beaches and in bars.

Sometimes there are reflections of Billy; in a rain washed exhaust pipe; a shop window, a wine bottle. He fills his sketchbook, buys another, and in Madrid, he posts the old one to Theo Dimmock via New Scotland Yard, hoping it will be forwarded to him, and that he will give it to Lestrade. He thinks it will reassure him that he is alive and well, doesn't realise that Lestrade might read a different message in the many sketches of the man he already sees as a rival.

Arkady finds little cafes and restaurants, orders local dishes to tempt Billy to eat. He succeeds more often than not as the days pass and Billy relaxes more.

The weather starts to warm up, and by the end of March, in southern Spain, they pack away their jumpers, with difficulty, into the panniers on the back of the Harley.

In Andalucia, they meet up with Sherlock again, and he quietly tells Arkady that a known associate of Siger Holmes has been seen in Barcelona and later in Madrid. He gives them new passports. Arkady is now Nikolai Dobrynin, and Billy is Alexander Callaghan.

" _Kolya and Sasha_ ", Arkady declares, although Billy would prefer "Xander". He wishes he had not been given Callaghan as his new surname, but concedes that it makes sense. It is a name that he has used before. He is unlikely to forget it.

In Algeciras, Arkady/Nikolai has the Harley sprayed black, and pays a lot of money for new number plates.

Later, Kolya and Sasha board a ferry to Tangiers. It is a month, to the day, since they ran from Lausanne.


	2. Dreaming of mashed potato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March 31st  
> Luton, UK

Sherlock flies out of Granada airport on his way home to London, and John. He has missed him.

He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. He is bone-tired, worried about Billy, worried about the hole in Mycroft's security that allowed Anthea to disappear and Kristof Leppälä to be killed.

The loss of the embryos hurts him much more than he expects. He supposes it is because it is his family blood, his family DNA. He had not fully understood John's pain when he had lost his baby. Now he thinks he does.

He squeezes his eyelids together, tries to prevent tears. John, of course, can try again. Sherlock's chance is gone in the fire that destroyed Kristof's lab. So is Mycroft's, and Sherlock knows the loss has hit his brother harder.

The plane hits a patch of turbulence. It makes Sherlock's stomach clench, brings acid up into his mouth. Luckily, there is nothing else to come up. He has not eaten for more than twenty four hours. John will make him eat. Chinese takeaway, or Thai. He over-salivates, feels nauseous.

What he really wants is mashed potato, custard, nursery food. He suddenly wants Mycroft, who would let him cry, hold him tight, put him to bed with a nightlight in the room.

The pilot announces that the plane is being held over Gatwick. They circle for a long time, then there is another announcement. They are being diverted to Luton. Sherlock sighs. It will mean a long taxi ride, and he is already exhausted. He hopes John isn't _too_ tetchy.

He queues impatiently to get off the plane, queues again to get through what should be minimal passport control. He strides across the concourse, heading for the taxi rank, and comes face to face with a smiling Theodore Dimmock.

"Hello, Sherlock. Want a lift?"

"What would you do if I said no?"

"Arrest you? Ask airport security for assistance to drag you to my car?"

"Hm. I think you might even try to." He smiles, tiredly. "Thank you, Theo. I really wasn't looking forward to a taxi ride. Why are you here, anyway?"

"Mycroft knew your plane was being diverted. Greg wanted to come but he couldn't. I was deputised. They've given me blues for the DeLorean. Great fun charging up the motorway with them on. Tried to keep it steady on 88 for a while, but nothing happened…"

Dimmock laughs and leads Sherlock to the short stay car park, gets him settled in the passenger seat, puts his travel bag in the boot.

"Hungry?"

"Surprisingly, yes. I have been dreaming of mashed potato…"

Dimmock laughs.

"I know somewhere we can get you some."

 

*********

 

"Here you go, boys. One tea, one coffee, double sausage, double mash and onions, two buttered slices."

Dimmock smiles his thanks at the waitress, pushes the mug of tea towards Sherlock and loads sugar into his own coffee. He smiles as he takes a small test sip of the scalding brew. Thick, sweet and tasting vaguely of evaporated milk. There is nothing quite like a mug of transport cafe coffee. Lestrade would sneer at it, but Dimmock secretly likes it. Sherlock sighs into his tea. It is the best he has had for a while.

"I only wanted potato, Theo."

"Sausage and mash is standard on the menu. Less fuss. I'm going to make myself a sausage sandwich."

Dimmock lifts the sausages onto a slice of bread and butter, splits them lengthwise, loads them with fried onions, and tops them with the other slice of bread. They eat quietly for a while, Dimmock taking in Sherlock's exhaustion, Sherlock staring at his plate. Eventually, Sherlock speaks.

"I could have got home by myself easily. Mycroft knows that, yet he arranged for me to be met. An intervention, before I get home. I take it there has been trouble with John?"

"You seem resigned to the fact that there might have been…"

"I went abroad and left him behind. That seems to sometimes trigger certain…behaviours."

"He seems to be determined to get himself hurt, Sherlock. You saw how he was when you came back from Barcelona."

"Yes, but he promised he would take the Selincro…"

"He stopped. As soon as you went away again. Look, Sherlock, Mycroft won't be able to keep hushing it up. The incidents are getting more serious. He's getting more reckless. Attacked the wrong bloke two days ago."

"Is he in hospital? I need to see him…"

"He's not in hospital. He's on bail. Sherlock, he will deny everything, but he was the aggressor. We have trustworthy eyewitnesses for two recent incidents now, and CCTV footage of two. You can't carry on covering for him."

"Who did he attack?"

"Greg."

Sherlock blanches.

"Oh, no. Is he hurt badly?"

"No, but he isn't pretty at the moment. You know he's not as light on his feet as he used to be, he still has trouble with his ankle…"

"Yes."

Sherlock grits his teeth.

"Witnesses?"

"Sally Donovan and one of Greg's new kids, can't remember his name, offhand. Tompkins?"

"Thompkiss. Promising detective. They arrested John?"

"Yes. He resisted. They weren't overly gentle, Sherlock. Greg was knocked out, and his team love him."

"I need to see him, before I see John. Please, Theo."

"Good. Got your priorities right." Dimmock smiles. "Finish your mashed potato and we'll make a move."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Selincro is a drug which affects the part of the brain that produces pleasure sensations from alcohol. It reduces the desire to drink.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March 31st  
> London

"Where are you taking me, Theo? This isn't the way to Greg's flat…"

"He's at your brother's place. Mycroft's trying to contain things."

Dimmock pulls into the parking space he has been allocated outside Mycroft Holmes's Fitzrovia house and slaps his parking permit on the windscreen. He sits silently, knuckles white on the steering wheel, for long enough to worry Sherlock.

"Theo…"

"Give me a minute, Sherlock. Dr Watson's here too. One of his bail conditions. This is hard for me."

Sherlock pats Dimmock's shoulder and waits quietly. After a few minutes, Dimmock shakes his shoulders and gets out of the car. He retrieves Sherlock's bag from the boot and they go up the steps to the front door together. Dimmock's ring is answered by a lanky redhead. He blinks, then realises it is Mycroft's partner.

"Inspector Logan…"

Logan smiles.

"Jackie, Theo, please. I'm off duty. For now, at least. Come in."

He turns to Sherlock, grips his arm.

"Welcome back, Laddie. Wish the circumstances were better…"

"It's good to see you, Jack. How is Lestrade?"

"He's fine. He's in the kitchen. Come through."

Sherlock follows Logan reluctantly, and sags with relief when he sees Lestrade stand to greet him. He notices bruises around his neck, on his chin and temple.

"Greg. Theo said you were hurt…"

Lestrade grabs him in a bear hug.

"Not badly. Bit of concussion, a few bruises. Nice to know you were worried though. You've seen Billy? Is he okay?"

Sherlock swears at his own thoughtlessness.

"I'm sorry. I should have texted you when I landed. Billy's fine, Greg. I left them in Algeciras."

"No news on any of the other stuff? No idea when he'll be coming home?"

"No. I'm sorry. But he is in good hands, Greg. Arkady is taking good care of him."

"Yeah. I know. I just miss him."

"I know. Greg, Theo said John is here?"

"Yeah. Upstairs. Mycroft's with him."

*********

John Watson looks fine at first glance.

As Sherlock enters the room, John tries to stand, and it becomes obvious he has been worked over in places that are easy to keep hidden. He hisses as bruised soft tissues complain.

Sherlock crosses the room and hugs him. John winces.

"You're back then. Can we get out of here now?"

Sherlock looks across the room at Mycroft. Notices a bruise on his brother's cheek.

"Mycroft?"

Logan coughs from the doorway.

"I'll stay with John for a bit. Mycroft, you need to go and have a chat with your brother."

John rears back, alarmed.

"Sherlock? Don't…"

"I won't be long, John. I need to report."

"Yeah. Of course you do. They lock me in, Sherlock…"

"I'll report quickly and come back in a little while. Don't get agitated."

Sherlock turns and leaves the room quickly. Hears the door close and the lock snick behind him. He follows Mycroft back along the corridor. At the top of the stairs, he stops.

"Mycroft, did he hit you?"

"Yes. But I do not believe it was with real intent to harm me. I have seen him do much greater damage."

"I need a cigarette. And a drink."

Mycroft presses his lips together.

"A cigarette, yes. Sadly, a drink is not on the menu. I have had all the alcohol removed from the house. It would not be fair to put temptation in his path."

Sherlock follows Mycroft downstairs and out onto the terrace, where Dimmock and Lestrade are talking quietly.

Sherlock fumbles for cigarettes, dropping the first one, breaking the second. He throws the packet down in frustration.

"Bloody hands won't cooperate…"

"Here."

Lestrade passes him a lit cigarette. He drags the smoke in deep.

"You've seen him like this before, Sherlock."

"Yes. I thought I could deal with it. Help him. I don't know what to do…"

Mycroft pats his shoulder

"He cannot stay here for long, Sherlock, and he cannot be allowed to go back to his flat, or to Baker Street, if you are away. If you plan to stay in London now, I can arrange for other operatives to carry on the search…"

Sherlock grimaces

"No. I have to do this, Mycroft. I have to do it for Billy's sake. Siger has someone in Spain. He is too close to him."

He draws deeply on his cigarette.

"What do you recommend?"

"Secure psychiatric provision." Mycroft cuts off Sherlock's protest. "No. Hear me out, Sherlock. He doesn't drink much when you are around. He doesn't seem to have the constant craving for drink that one expects in an alcoholic. We need to uncover why he binges, when he does drink. Why a situation will sometimes set him off, sometimes not. Why there is sometimes violence and sometimes not. "

"I will talk to him…"

"And he will convince you that he is all right. And it is possible that he will _be_ all right, for as long as you are here with him. But you have said yourself that you will go back into the field. Sherlock, he is becoming more and more reckless. He attacked _Gregor_. And _he_ was more seriously hurt than he is letting you see. Do not let yourself be blinded by your… feelings for John."

Sherlock turns and looks at Lestrade carefully.

"What are your injuries?"

"Told you. Bit of concussion. A few bruises…"

Dimmock snorts.

"He shouldn't be out of bed. Twenty four hours out cold. Eleven stitches in the back of his head. Hairline skull fracture. Woke up speaking French. Bit sexy, that."He clears his throat. "Dr Watson tried to strangle him after he got him down…"

Sherlock is horrified

"Why aren't you in hospital, Lestrade?"

He stalks around behind Lestrade, gently brushes his fingers through strands of still blood-matted hair.

"Oh, Greg. I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, 'Lock. I'm okay. It'll look better when I can wash my hair. I'll just have a bald patch for a while. It'll grow back. I hope."

"Stop being brave, Lestrade. Tell me what happened."

Lestrade tells him how he had been in the pub celebrating closing a big case with Donovan and Thompkiss. He had seen John come in and buy a scotch, knew he wasn't supposed to be drinking, and had decided to keep an eye on him. He'd seen him chatting with a young man at the bar, seen him follow the young man when he left soon after. Alarm bells had started ringing in Lestrade's mind, and he had gone after him, trailed by his team. He had pulled John off the man, and he had turned on him.

"I don't remember anything else. Sally said I hit my head on the kerb when I went down."

Dimmock takes over the narrative.

"There's footage. A camera on the corner of the pub. Dr Watson went for him, Sherlock. Knees on his shoulders, hands on his throat. You know there's already weakness there…"

Sherlock rocks on his feet, nausea washing through him.

"Mycroft, I need to sleep. John knows I am here and he will get upset if I don't go back to him. I will stay with him tonight."

"Sherlock…"

"Have someone outside the room if you like. In the morning, we will discuss how to move forward." 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March 31st  
> London
> 
> Sherlock needs to be with John.

Sherlock goes upstairs to the bedroom John has been using since being released from police custody. Logan is sitting outside the door, reading.

"Jack, is he locked in all the time?"

"No. Only when he says he wants to sleep. We learned our lesson when he tried to leave the first time he was left alone. Mycroft stopped him. You saw the bruise on his face? There are more…"

"During the day, he has the run of the house?"

"Aye. But someone is always with him. Me, or Mycroft. Theo did a couple of night shifts, while Greg was in hospital, but he won't do the days."

"Theo? That is surprising."

"Aye. It's because John hurt Greg. That young man has a lot of feeling for your pet DCI…"

"He is not my _pet_ …"

"I didn't mean it in a bad way, lad. You're fond of him. It shows."

"Hmph." Sherlock pats Logan's shoulder. He likes the ginger-haired Scot, thinks he has been very good for Mycroft. "All right. I'm just a bit touchy at the moment. Tired."

"Aye. I can see that. Will you stay with John tonight? He's been asking for you."

"Yes. Are you planning to lock me in with him?"

"Aye. Just as a precaution. Shout out if he gets angry. I'll be here for a couple more hours, then Mycroft will take over."

"Are Greg and Theo staying?"

"No. Theo will take Greg home, make sure he gets some rest, intercept phone calls, that sort of thing. He's on leave before starting back at the Yard, so he can stay with him. Greg needs to be kept under observation for a few more days yet."

"He should still be in hospital."

"Aye, but you know what he's like. You're the same."

*********

"Hello, John"

"Have you come to take me home?"

"No. I'm too tired to go anywhere else tonight. I'm staying here with you."

"I've missed you, Sherlock."

"I've missed you, too."

Sherlock rummages through dresser drawers. Mycroft usually keeps spare pyjamas for guests, and luckily, there are some that will fit. He strips off his trousers and shirt.

"I'm going to shower. Won't be a minute."

"Can I come in with you?" John's voice sounds very small, almost pathetic. "I need to touch you."

Sherlock smiles

"All right. You sound as if you haven't seen me for a year, instead of a week."

John removes his clothes carefully. Sherlock frowns as he sees bruises on his torso. There are marks on his arms that he doesn't understand. Sherlock waits until they have finished showering and are dressed in pyjamas before asking about them. He has heard Dimmock's explanation already. He wants to hear John's.

"What happened, John? Who hit you?"

"Sally Donovan. That big lump of a constable held my arms, held me off the ground while she laid into me. They said I'd hurt Greg. I wouldn't hurt Greg, Sherlock. He's my friend…"

Sherlock sighs. He understands the marks now. Thompkiss is a big man, well over six feet, and he has big hands. John would have struggled. Thompkiss would have gripped hard. Sherlock is torn between outrage over Lestrade's injuries and outrage over his team's response to them. He doesn't understand how one man could have restrained John so easily, either. 

"Come to bed, John. I need a cuddle."

They lie down and Sherlock wraps himself around John. John huddles in tight.

"John. Do you know why you are here at Mycrofts house?"

"I was arrested. I'm on bail."

John's voice is very flat. Sherlock speaks gently to him.

"Yes. That's what they told me, too. John, there is CCTV footage of you attacking Greg."

"No. It must be someone who looks like me. Ask Greg. He'll tell you."

"I have asked him. He confirms that it was you, John. He has a fractured skull…"

"So his memory is probably impaired. Head injuries can do that. He accused the wrong man, and Donovan beat me up because he accused the wrong man. That bitch and her strong-arm man should be out looking for whoever did it, not taking the word of a concussion case."

Sherlock blinks. This is very bad. John is trying to put the blame on _Lestrade_.

"John. You have been drinking again. We agreed…"

"You went away and left me behind again. You promised…" John gasps against Sherlock's shoulder. "You _promised_ me you wouldn't leave again."

"It was important. I had to see that my brother was safe."

"Your brother is _here_. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying, John. Billy is in danger…"

"Billy? _Junkie_ Billy? He's your brother?" John laughs. "Really? How come you've never mentioned that little snippet before?"

Sherlock blinks. Remembers that John had left Lausanne early, with Lestrade. He doesn't remember if he actually told John about Billy, or if he did and John has forgotten. He hedges.

"Mycroft and I judged that it would be better for no one to know."

John's mood shifts dangerously.

"Yes. I can see why Mycroft would want to keep it quiet. Bad enough having one junkie brother. Two seems a bit excessive. And you have the nerve to moan at me for wanting a couple of pints every now and then."

"John, please. Don't be angry with me. I've missed you…"

John shoves Sherlock away.

"Fuck off, Sherlock. Go back to your brothers. You all deserve each other."

"John…"

"Fuck off. Leave me alone. That's what you want to do, anyway."

He turns his back on Sherlock and curls into a ball. Sherlock puts his hand gently on his shoulder. John shrugs it off, hisses

"Go. Now. I don't want you here."

Sherlock blinks back tears as he gathers up his clothes. He crosses to the door and knocks for Logan to let him out.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March 31st
> 
> Tangier

Billy smiles as Arkady turns the Harley into the car park of the Hotel Continental. The building looks like a seaside hotel from an Agatha Christie novel. " _Murder in Morocco_ " he thinks, and shudders.

Arkady disappears inside the hotel, leaving Billy outside smoking and people-watching. In a few minutes, Arkady is back, smiling. 

"There is another car park behind the hotel, Sasha. We should park the motorcycle there."

"Are we staying here then, Ka…Kolya? It's a bit posh-looking."

"For tonight only. It is not as fine as it looks."

Billy looks around with interest as he and Arkady make their way through the hotel. They pass the restaurant, catching glimpses of the hotel's huge patio through arched windows.The public areas are Moroccan style, decorated with mosaic tiles, lit with lamps like the one Billy has installed in his bedroom on the SeaGlass. The whole place has a faded sort of grandeur.

Arkady has booked two rooms. Billy's room is very plain, and the bathroom is uninspiring. Arkady runs water into the basin and calls Billy to look.

"Do not, ever, drink water that has come from a tap in this hotel. Bottled water only, and make sure the seal has not been broken."

The water in the basin is greenish. Billy isn't even sure he wants to wash in it. He opens the French window onto a private balcony. It is wide enough to hold a wrought iron table and two chairs, and has a view of the port.

"My room is opposite. It looks out over the medina. I thought you would prefer to look at the sea."

Billy smiles

"Yeah. Thanks."

They change their clothes and go to dinner. Billy thinks that leaving his spare shoes behind in Barcelona was a mistake. His feet feel hot and heavy in the motorcycle boots. Arkady has insisted that Billy wear a plain t-shirt, lending him one of his own. Arkady is heavier-set than Billy. The t-shirt is loose and the sleeves reach his elbows, covering the tattoo on his right arm. Billy is glad of it. All his own t-shirts are tight and have long sleeves.

The restaurant opens onto a huge public patio that spans the whole width of the building. Arched doorways allow what breeze there is to filter through. It is a warm evening. Billy hopes they don't have to stay in Morocco too long. He guesses it might become uncomfortably hot.

After dinner they go to the public balcony, find a table in a quiet corner and sit, watching the sun set through palm trees. Arkady takes a phone call and chats quietly for a while in Russian while Billy scowls because he can't understand. After a few minutes, Arkady hands him the phone. 

"It is your older brother. He wants to speak with you. _Take care._ "

Billy takes the phone, surprised that anyone would want to talk to him.

"Hello?"

_"Hello. Your friend tells me you are beginning to relax a little."_

Mycroft sounds stilted. Billy realises Arkady's "take care" means "choose your words carefully". 

"Yeah. I'm getting used to it. What do you want? I'm not used to getting social calls."

_"I have a question for you…"_

"Go on."

_"Are you aware of any research on the treatment of alcohol abuse?"_

"There's some. The drugs they use at the moment have a lot of side effects. There's a group in Alberta who think they're close to finding an alternative drug. Another group in New South Wales looking at surgical options. There's probably more, if you go looking."

_"Is this an area of research you are interested in?"_

"No. Not really. I wrote a couple of papers looking at the link between alcoholism and PTSD. They should be amongst the stuff you unearthed when I went to Scotland. I was really interested in PTSD when I was doing my Masters. That led into my main research."

_"We have a particular interest in research in this field. Could you be persuaded to work on such a project?"_

"No. I won't go back to Canada, and that's where the best work is going on. I don't feel a spark for the field, anyway. What's your interest?"

_"An associate of our brother has a problem…"_

"I know who you mean. I've seen him in drink. He gets nasty. What's he done?"

Billy hears Mycroft sigh at the end of the phone, knows he has touched a nerve.

_"You are correct, of course. He has done something. I do not know how you have these flashes of cognition…"_

"I don't either. Stop hedging. Has he hurt someone? Has he hurt our brother again?"

_"Not this time. He has attacked someone you are very fond of. In error, I think, but nonetheless…"_

"Tell me."

_"He is fine, but has a hairline skull fracture and some bruising. He is at home, and another friend is staying with him for a while. He was knocked down and he hit his head on a kerb."_

"And you want me to help you find a treatment. You'd do better looking for research into PTSD. He's a classic case. You can have my papers. Contact my ex. I expect you know where he is. He knows a couple of the Alberta people. But I won't work on this for you. My two best friends have both been hurt now. If it was up to me I'd get him locked up so he can't hurt anyone else."

Billy bites down on his anger.

"Are you sure he's all right? You're not hiding anything from me?"

_"He is fine. I will ask your Russian friend to call him so you can speak to him. Before you hand me back, our brother would like a word."_

Billy expects that Sherlock will try to persuade him. 

_"Hello. I got the gist of your conversation. Are you refusing because of who it is?"_

"No. Not really. You need something now, anyway. Anything I got into would be years away from a product. Alberta is your best bet. Get Big Brother to inject some cash."

_"Why are you refusing? Just to satisfy my curiosity."_

"I need to be fired up by an idea. I'm not, with alcoholism. I wouldn't give it my best shot. You understand that. And I won't go back to Canada."

_"I understand. Of course. Your experience in Canada was unpleasant, I know."_

"Yeah. I've said you can have my papers on alcoholism and PTSD. I think that's where you should be looking for your treatment."

_"Thank you for at least considering the issue. Now, I think our brother needs to speak to your friend again. Enjoy your holiday. Goodbye."_

Billy gives the phone back to Arkady, who has a short conversation, in Russian again. He breaks off the call, dials again and hands the phone back to Billy. The call is answered by Theo Dimmock, who gives Billy a more detailed account of the incident, upsetting him. Halfway through the call, Billy hears a little scuffle on the other end of the line, and Lestrade breaks in.

_"Hello Billy. I was asleep, love."_

"Are you all right?"

_"Yeah. Don't worry about me. Theo's acting like my mother at the moment, looking after me. You're in Morocco, Sherlock said…"_

Billy realises that whatever security issues Mycroft has don't seem to apply to Lestrade's phone. He wonders why Mycroft feels less secure than usual. He decides to carry on 'taking care' at his end of the conversation, anyway. 

"Yeah. No one will tell me how long we're going to be here."

_"It'll be as long as it needs to be, to keep you safe. Billy, take care there, love. Homosexuality is illegal in Morocco. Don't look as if you're too friendly with Arkady."_

"Okay. That's scared me again."

_"Sorry love. I didn't mean to. Keep yourself safe and don't forget me."_

"As if I would, or could. I lo… Look after yourself."

_"Yeah. I'll be more careful in future. I'm feeling sleepy again, Billy. Going to lie down again. 'Night, love."_

Billy switches off the phone and gives it back to Arkady. 

"You are angry."

Arkady pitches his voice very low. There is no one near them, but there is no point taking chances. Billy follows suit.

"Greg's got a fractured skull. And Mycroft wants me to help the man who gave it to him. I'd have to go to Alberta, and Liam's there. Mycroft knows that."

"Liam? Ah, yes. He treated you badly."

"Yeah. Mycroft knows how badly. He can stick his research project up his arse."

"It is more than that…"

"Theo is staying with Greg. I could hear him moving around. I recognised the sound of the bed frame creaking."

"Ah. Perhaps it is just that he is nearby in case there is a problem. Perhaps he is just sitting on the side of the bed with a cup of tea…"

Billy laughs at the ridiculousness of Arkady's excuse for Dimmock.

"Yeah. Perhaps. But they've got history. Theo lived with him…"

"Try not to worry. You can do nothing from here in any case."

Billy whispers angrily

"You didn't mention the law here."

"I thought you would know. That is why we have separate rooms rather than a twin room. It is only for tonight. Tomorrow we move on."

"K…Kolya, I _look_ gay."

"You do not. You look like a tourist. And you sound like a cockney market trader. Do not worry. You are safe as long as you do not feel tempted to kiss me."

Billy laughs.

"Not tempted in the slightest."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> March 31st/April 1st  
> Morocco
> 
> Billy starts to learn things

Billy lies awake, replaying the phone calls in his mind.

The pang of jealousy he had felt when he realised Theo was in Greg's bedroom had surprised him. He knows Arkady is probably right, that Theo is just taking care of Greg. " _But why is Theo still in London? What's going on?_ "

He is still angry that Mycroft asked him to help find a treatment for John Watson. He thinks about his response. Could he have been more helpful? He decides eventually that he could not. He has told Mycroft about the best options, offered his own papers. He couldn't do more anyway. Not while he is on the run.

 _"Why didn't Arkady mention the law against homosexuality here? Why did I have to learn about it from Greg?"_ He thinks back to earlier in the evening. Arkady had booked separate rooms. He hadn't done that anywhere else. He had insisted that Billy wear a plain t-shirt to dinner, not a lace-trimmed one, lending him one of his own. " _He was making sure we looked more like two straight blokes,_ " he thinks " _not a couple_ ". He realises that he hadn't been thinking about Arkady or himself as _gay_ , anyway. Until Lestrade made him focus on trying not to be.

He realises something about himself, too. He knows almost nothing about the real world, outside of his own little bubble. He ought to have known about Moroccan laws. They affect people like him. He feels a little ashamed.

He can't sleep, it is too warm.

Eventually, he gets up and goes out onto his balcony, listens to music on his iPod, finishes a pack of cigarettes. He is still awake when dawn breaks.

*********

The breakfast room is corridor-like, lined with arched stained glass windows, in turquoise and green. Billy likes stained glass, would normally sketch the light falling across the table, across the face of whoever is sitting opposite him. Today, he is worried about getting his sketchbook out. Worried that someone might notice the many pictures of Arkady, might read more into them than is there.

He thinks he might have made a mistake in sending his last sketchbook to Lestrade. Maybe _he_ might read too much into it. " _Too late to do anything about that now_ ," he thinks.

Arkady is concerned. Billy is very quiet, and he has eaten everything put in front of him without complaining.

"You look tired, Sasha. Did you sleep badly?"

"Didn't sleep at all. Too many thoughts in my head."

"Try not to fall asleep on the motorcycle."

Billy smiles. "I'll do my best, Kolya. Go over a bump every so often, just to make sure."

After breakfast, Arkady checks them out of the hotel. They load up the Harley, and Arkady mounts up. Before putting down his visor, he whispers to Billy.

"Do not put your hands on my waist, here. Hold the back of my belt, if you like, or the seat frame behind you. You will not fall off, either way."

Billy nods, and climbs into the pillion seat. He almost cries with relief as they leave Tangier behind them.

*********

Billy is beginning to realise how big the world is.

They seem to never travel for much less than a whole day. Usually, Arkady stops for food, rest breaks. Today, he only stops for fuel.

They are on the bike for six hours, almost. Billy nods off occasionally, but he is wedged in tight behind Arkady, and the pillion seat on the Harley has a backrest. There is no danger of falling off.

In the late afternoon, they ride into traffic, a big town. They ride, ever more slowly, through wide, then narrower streets. Eventually, Arkady stops, and helps Billy off the bike.

"We walk now. We must make our way into the medina, and there are too many people to make riding safe. Take off your helmet and put your sunglasses on."

He fastens the helmets to the handlebars with a bungee cord, and they walk, pushing the Harley.

The medina is a maze of narrow streets, lined with cafes and market stalls. There is a central square, where food stalls are being set up.

"Everyone comes here to eat in the evening. Perhaps we will come back later for dinner. There will be entertainment, too. Snake charmers, magicians. You will like it."

"I might have to give it a miss. I'm shattered."

"You can sleep for a few hours before we go out."

Billy follows Arkady through narrow streets on the far side of the square. They come to a wooden door in a high, pink-plastered wall. Arkady pulls an iron ring set in the wall next to the door. After a minute or so, the door is opened by a boy of about ten. Arkady pushes the motorcycle inside. Billy follows.

*********

"Sasha, Sasha. Wake up."

Billy moans. He is still sleepy, and his skin itches where he has been sweating.

"What is it?"

"It is time to eat. You have slept four hours. Any more and you will be awake all night again."

Billy blinks in the dim light.

"You look different…"

Arkady grins. "It is the clothes. There are some for you, too."

Arkady is wearing loose grey linen trousers and a loose, long sleeved white t-shirt. They look comfortable.

Billy yawns, his jaw clicking. He is lying on a low couch, still dressed in his leathers. He can hear water trickling somewhere.

"I don't remember lying down…"

"You were asleep on your feet. We put you here, because the stairs are narrow. It would have been hard to carry you up to your room."

"My room? I'm going to be on my own again? You said…"

"Wait until you see it. Come."

Billy sits up and stretches. Looks around. The couch he has been lying on is in a kind of cloister. A wide arched opening leads out to a small courtyard, where he sees the source of the trickling water is a small raised pool with a fountain in the centre of it. There are orange and lemon trees and herbs in pots here and there, and the boy he had seen earlier is busy watering them.

Arkady helps Billy to his feet and smiles.

"This is a safe house. Mycroft's people use it when they are in Marrakech. I will take you to meet Mamoun. He is in charge of everything here. The young man over there is called Nabil. He is Mamoun's nephew."

"Marrakech?"

"Da. You will like it here, Sasha."

Arkady leads the way across the courtyard to a corner archway. There is a narrow staircase inside, leading up to the second and third floors of the house.

"The house is traditional moroccan design. It is called a riad. Most are bigger, used as hotels. This one will accommodate perhaps ten people in comfort. More if necessary, but then it would be less comfortable."

They pass the first floor, where the terrace is enclosed with a pierced screen, continue up to the second. Rooms open off the terrace, which is open on this floor, overlooking the central courtyard. Billy's room is large, taking up most of one side of the house, with plastered white walls and blue-tiled floor.

The bed is large and low and looks very comfortable. There are no windows, but the terrace door is wide and fully glazed, with panes of coloured glass in a wooden frame, allowing soft light into the room. There is an old, antique-looking wardrobe, and an equally old-looking desk.

The room next door to Billy's is the strangest bathroom he has ever seen. A deep, lipped semicircular tub, with taps on the wall above it, flanked by benches on both sides. The whole room, tub, benches and walls, are dark pink polished plaster. The floor is tiled, a mosaic design, and there is a drain in one corner. There is no lavatory or basin. No mirror. Light streams in through a pierced panel, high up on the wall, enough to see by. For night time bathing there are niches holding candles on either side of the tub. The room smells of rose petals.

"It's a bit like being inside a box of Turkish delight…"

"It is a private hammam. A wonderful thing. You will be able to cool down, to relax."

"A hammam? Isn't that a Turkish bath?"

"Not quite. In the public hammams, there are different levels of heat in different rooms. You sweat, and scrape your skin clean, then sluice with buckets. You can have a massage if you wish it. Here, you can soak if you want to. Or sluice, if you prefer. If you want a massage, I know how to ease knots in the muscles. "

"Where's the lav? Where can I brush my teeth?"

Arkady laughs.

"In your room. You have a modern ensuite bathroom, with a shower, if you prefer it to this. The water is clean, but not for drinking. This is for anyone to use, although we are the only two who will use it just now. Mamoun and Nabil prefer the public hammam."

"Have you stayed here before?"

"Da. I have. It is safe, Sasha."

"I'm still Alexander then?"

"Da. It is the name Mamoun has for you. He knows me as Nikolai. We must go to eat, Sasha. Have a shower quickly, and change your clothes. There are garments in the wardrobe for you. I will wait in the courtyard."

*********

"You look more comfortable, Sasha. More relaxed."

Billy smiles at Arkady. He feels better than he has for days. Fresh, loose clothes have helped, and his feet feel cool and comfortable in what he would have once called " _old man sandals_ ", brown leather, basket weave with buckles.

Arkady gives him a few words of advice

"This is a Muslim country, and some of the people do not like to see art that depicts living things. It might be better to leave your sketchbook here, when you go out. Draw from memory."

Billy nods. He had already decided to do that in any case. Arkady goes on.

"No one in the medina will accept a credit card. You need to carry cash, Dirham. Make sure you have coins, for tips. Mamoun will tell you the exchange rate, and he will get currency for you. He will get you newspapers, too. But they will be in French. Most people here speak it. "

"I don't speak much French. I didn't do languages at A level. I know a little bit. Greg sometimes goes a bit French…"

"Practice. Mamoun will give you a dictionary, and Nabil will talk to you, and laugh at you when you make mistakes. Come and meet them."

Mamoun greets Billy in English, calls him "sir", which Billy doesn't like. Nabil calls him "Monsieur Sasha", which he does.

They sit in the courtyard drinking tea from traditional glasses. Billy decides he likes moroccan mint tea, almost as much as he likes chamomile tea.

Arkady had let Billy sleep longer than he had intended to, and it is late before they are ready to eat. They decide not go to the food stalls in the medina. Instead, they eat couscous and kefta, meatballs flavoured with coriander and cumin, which Mamoun prepares and cooks quickly. Afterwards, they drink more tea.

Arkady takes Billy up to the roof.

"You can see and hear the medina from here, and the wall is thick, so no one outside can see you. You are allowed to smoke up here, but nowhere else in the house. It is very pleasant in the evenings."

Billy leans his elbows on the wall and looks out across the city.

"There's a lot of storks. I can see half a dozen or so…"

"The Marrakeshi people are superstitious about them. Some think they are holy. It is good luck to have a nest on your roof."

Billy laughs "I hope they don't decide to nest on this roof. Those beaks look a bit fierce."

"Da. They do." Arkady smiles. "I will teach you to shoot. But not at storks. And to ride a motorcycle."

Billy looks worried

"Why do I need to learn to shoot?"

"Any covert operative should be able to shoot. You may thank me one day."

"I'm not an operative, Kolya."

"You will not always want to be dependent on a bodyguard."

"No. I suppose you're right. You said you'd teach me to ride a motorbike? Not the Harley?"

Arkady laughs. "No. Your limbs are like twigs. You would break bones just holding it up. We will begin with one of the little mopeds you see so many of here."

"I'm not as weedy as I look. I decked Greg once…"

"I should have liked to see that."

Billy barks out a little, bitter laugh.

"He deserved it. Or at least I thought he did, at the time. Riding a bike will be useful. That'll be a skill I'll be able to use at home. If I ever go home…"

"You will go home. Just not yet."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 1st
> 
> London
> 
> Lestrade makes a painful decision

"Did you sleep all right?"

"No. Your sofa is really uncomfortable. I'd be better off on the floor on a lilo. Think I might pop into Milletts and get one later. Should you be up?"

"Couldn't sleep. After talking to Bill, you know. I wasn't even really convinced he was alive until last night. Stupid, really."

He huffs out a laugh. 

"I've made tea…"

"Great. Stick some sugar in mine?"

"Okay. D'you want it over there, or are you going to sit up at the table?"

"Give me a minute to unkink my spine."

Lestrade adds milk and sugar to the tea and sips his, leaning against the edge of the table. Dimmock joins him.

"I was thinking about what you said in Mycroft's office, that day we were both there. About me not wanting to let Billy grow up."

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"You didn't. Well, you did a little bit at the time, but I've had time to think about it a bit."

He scratches at the back of his head, winces as he touches the stitches. 

"You were right. I want him to be like he was in Scotland. Everything was new to him. Everything was exciting. I was exciting…"

"It was all new to you, as well."

"Yeah. It was. He made me feel young. He was the first…"

"You were probably the first person who'd been kind to him since he was a kid. He'll love you forever for that."

"Maybe. But there's still a lot of things for him to do out there. "

Lestrade waves aimlessly towards the window. 

"You could say that about anyone. Bill does push himself sometimes. He doesn't always curl up and hide. He learned to navigate the canals in his boat by himself. You weren't around to help him then. And you know he learned to ride a horse in Canada?" Dimmock laughs. "And to ice skate?"

"No. He can ride? He never said."

"I think maybe he thought you'd be unhappy that he'd done it without you. He worries about things like that."

"I wasn't even in his life then. He… I wish Callaghan hadn't been such a bastard. I don't know if he came back to me because he wanted me, or because he felt safe with me."

Lestrade pinches the bridge of his nose. Sniffs.

"You saw his sketchbook? All the pictures of Arkady."

"He likes drawing, Greg. And Yegorov's the only person he knows out there. Don't read too much into it."

"It's not that. It's all the places he's taken him to. And that fucking Harley. He's seeing him all excited…"

"And scared. He's on the run, Greg. Don't begrudge him a bit of excitement."

Lestrade opens up the door out onto the fire escape he uses as a terrace. He goes out and lights a cigarette. Dimmock follows, sits on the bottom rung of the stairs to the roof. 

"The first night Arkady was in Lausanne he'd gone out to the garden for one of his filthy Sobranies. Billy was out there. He'd been reading that paper Mycroft showed you, and it had upset him. He went out without his coat on, and there was a foot of snow. Arkady's got this fur coat…you saw the picture."

Dimmock nods. He'd liked the picture of Arkady in his fur.

"He took it off and wrapped it round Bill to keep him warm. Then he picked him up and carried him indoors, like a damsel in distress. Bill loved it. He was laughing, his eyes were sparkling… I hadn't seen him like that since, well, I don't remember when I last saw him like that."

Lestrade takes a long drag of his cigarette.

"He'd just met him. Just that minute. He didn't know him. But he knew what to do to make him laugh. He'll be really good for him. And he's a lot younger than me. His birthday's the same day as Bill's, you know. He'll turn forty on the day Bill turns thirty two. That's not much of a gap."

"You've really been thinking about the age thing, haven't you?"

"I'm slower than I used to be. Not as fit. Those dogs did me a lot of damage. Knox did a lot more. You know what that did to me. My ankle plays me up a lot. My hand's not as flexible. I can't play bass like I used to. I can't run. I can't ride my bike any more. I can't keep on my feet when a drunk takes a pop at me. He'll be forever nursing me."

He drags on the cigarette, chokes. 

"It wouldn't be fair on him. Wouldn't be right."

He clears his throat.

"I'm going to have to let him go, T'éo."

"What if he doesn't want to go?"

"He'll get over me."

"He didn't last time. Or the time before that. And you didn't get over him."

Dimmock finishes his tea. 

"I don't think it'll be easy for you to let go, Greg. You don't really want to. And you can't just assume that Yegorov will step up for him."

"What do I do then, T'éo?"

"I don't know, Greg. I'm rubbish at relationships. Just don't do what you did when you were in Scotland. Don't cut him off without explaining why to him. That really hurt him. I wouldn't want to see him like that again."

"I shouldn't have started it all up again. I should have kept my distance…"

"Yeah. Maybe. You always were an idiot."

"I want what's best for him…"

"Maybe you should let him decide what that is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tangier and London have only an hour's time difference at that time of year, so early evening in London is early evening in Tangier as well.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 5th 
> 
> Geneva
> 
> Queenie is recovering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late, short posting. I have been without wifi for the last 24 or so hours. Hope to be back to normal tomorrow.

Queenie Fletcher flexes her left hand as the physiotherapist has instructed her.

_Clench the fist, count to five, stretch the fingers, count to five, repea_ t…

Her right hand has healed well. The left was more badly damaged. Skin grafts have been successful, but the skin and underlying muscles are tight and need to be stretched. Left alone, the hand tends to draw itself into a claw. In time, if she follows the exercise regime carefully, she should regain normal use.

The burns on her legs and her left arm had been alarming to look at in the immediate aftermath of the explosion and fire. The high density plastic her leg braces were constructed from had melted, sticking to her skin in places, and the metal hinges and fasteners had heated up and burned her as well.

Fortunately, the burns were less severe than on her hands. There will be scarring, and that upsets her, but her legs are no worse, functionally, than they were before. Her arm was exposed to flame, and has needed muscle reconstruction as well as grafts. She mourns the loss of her favourite koi carp tattoo.

The arm hurts constantly. She worries about becoming addicted to painkillers. She is allergic to Paramorph. She has the distinction of being among the first people to be diagnosed as such.

Her hair is growing back over the stitches in her scalp. She had been hit with something, hard enough to knock her out, and whoever had done it had hit her after she had already been shot. She hadn't seen her assailant at all. She has been told that the pattern of injury on her skull was consistent with being struck with a pistol grip. She doesn't doubt that that was what had happened.

The worst injury, from her point of view, is from the bullet that tore through her left breast implant, lodging itself between her ribs. The implant had slowed the bullet. There had not been a great deal of impact damage, but the implant had ruptured, and surgeons had difficulty removing the silicon gel that had leaked into her chest. It was a month before she could have a replacement implant.

Queenie has been in hospital for five weeks. She will be there for a few more weeks yet.

She knows things could have been worse.

Mycroft Holmes has visited her three times. Each time he has asked the same questions. _Can she recall anything about the person who shot her? Did she see any strangers in the hours before the attack? Does she know where Kristof Leppälä was going when he took a flask from the lab?_

Queenie thinks that Mycroft thinks she knows something more than she is telling. She doesn't. But she does suspect that there is something Mycroft is not telling _her_.

She suspects that Anthea got away, and that she has not contacted Mycroft. She wonders why.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 10th
> 
> Cumbria

Sherlock smiles sadly as he looks across a sea of daffodils. Their yellow trumpets nod, all facing toward the sun. Sherlock faces the sun, too, looking away from the house, away from curious faces watching him from the windows.

_It is beautiful here_ , he thinks. _Peaceful_. He hopes it isn't _too_ peaceful, wishes Mycroft could have found somewhere closer to London, but he understands why this place was the best choice.

The clinical team here is the best in the country, and their residents have the shortest stays. It is also far enough away to make it inconvenient for Sherlock to visit too often, apparently a good thing, but Sherlock isn't completely sure why.

"Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock turns to the nurse who has appeared quietly at his elbow.

"Has he settled well? Can I see him?"

"Yes, but only for a short visit this time. We are still establishing his routine."

The nurse leads the way into the house, along corridors, up stairs. Sherlock follows him, observing as he goes. There is no 'hospital' smell, no locked doors. He assumes there _are_ places where people are confined, but they are not in this part of the house.

The corridors are bright and cheerful, patient * _resident_ * lounges and dining rooms are calm and furnished comfortably. It feels more like a hotel than a clinic, feels expensive. _It probably is_ , he thinks. Mycroft has not mentioned the costs.

John's room is on the second floor, overlooking the gardens. The door is slightly ajar, and the nurse knocks politely before opening it wider. John is sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair, reading. He looks up from his book when the nurse knocks.

"A visitor for you, Dr Watson."

"Sherlock?"

John almost throws himself out of the chair and into Sherlock's arms.

"John. You're squashing me…"

John steps back, starts to apologise.

"No, don't let go. Just not so tight, perhaps."

The nurse clears his throat behind them.

"I'll just be in the office, Mr Holmes. At the end of this corridor."

He leaves, but does not close the door.

"I didn't think I'd see you again, Sherlock. I was horrible to you."

"You were not yourself, John. You were very upset."

John pulls Sherlock over to the bed, and they sit very close together.

"I've been having memory lapses. I'm having a bit of trouble sorting out what's real and what's not. Seems I remember some things that didn't happen, and forget some things that did."

"Yes. That's why you're here, John. To help sort that out, to investigate the cause of the problem."

"Did you tell me Billy Wiggins is your brother?"

"Yes. He is. Well, half-brother."

"Right. I wondered if that was something my mind had invented. Blimey. Must have been a shock finding that out."

"More for him than me, I think."

John laughs. "Yeah. It would be terrifying to suddenly find out that Mycroft Holmes is your brother. Poor sod. Did I hurt Greg?"

The rapid change of subject throws Sherlock for a moment. He had been trying to think of a way to tell John Billy's history without upsetting him. John hates secrets.

"Yes. But we don't think you meant to. He interrupted you doing something and you lashed out."

"What was I doing?"

Sherlock really doesn't want to explain that John had picked up a young man in a pub and was in the process of assaulting him when Lestrade stepped in. He lies.

"I don't know. I wasn't there, of course, and they haven't released details of the incident."

"Can you find out? It might help to figure out why I can't remember…"

"Lestrade is looking into it. I'll ask what he's found when I go back."

"Won't he be a bit biased?"

"No. As I said, he doesn't think you hurt him on purpose. And we don't want to get too many people involved."

"I thought you might be able to…"

"I will, but it will be helpful to have Lestrade involved."

"Okay."

Sherlock puts his arm around John, pulling him in against his shoulder. They sit quietly for a while.

"I'm going to be here a long time."

"Not too long, I hope. I want you home as soon as you're…"

"Sane?" John laughs, bitterly "I'm perfectly aware that this is a secure psychiatric hospital. Even if it is dressed up to look like a country house hotel."

"We're trying to help you, John. This is the best place for you to be just now."

"You're going abroad again, aren't you? And I'll be locked up here. I'm supposed to keep you safe, Sherlock."

Sherlock doesn't know how to respond in any way that will not make John more anxious. He hugs him tight.

"I will come and visit again soon. I miss you, John." Sherlock kisses John's hair. John doesn't lift his head up. Sherlock knows he is crying.

"Don't forget me."

"How could I? I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In London, you will typically see daffodils in March, but further north, the season starts later. Cumbria is about as far north as you can go and still be in England. Wordsworth's 'host' would likely have been in Cumbria.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April 28th 
> 
> Marrakech

Billy leans back against the wall, sips his third glass of mint tea.

"You keep saying ' _you_ '. 'You will need to' ; 'Make sure you' …"

"Do I?"

Billy looks at Arkady through lowered lashes, eyes glinting.

"Mm. You've been doing it since we got here."

"Have I?"

"Yeah. 'You'. Not 'we'. Not 'us'."

Arkady flushes. "Perhaps I am still not completely fluent with the English language."

"Bollocks."

Billy makes for the stairs to the roof. Arkady gets to his feet, takes a deep breath and follows him. By the time he reaches the roof, Billy is lighting a cigarette.

"You are angry with me. I do not understand why."

"You're keeping secrets."

Arkady is keeping big secrets. Personal secrets he really does not want Billy to learn just yet. He takes another deep breath, opens his mouth to speak, but Billy beats him to it.

"How long?"

"How long?" Arkady is afraid Billy has guessed. It is hard to hide anything from a Holmes.

"Until you leave?"

"Ah." Arkady is relieved. "Why do you think I will leave?"

"You're too good for them to just leave you here as my babysitter. And you're training me. How long?"

"I am not sure. It depends on what is happening. There has been no progress yet…"

"When were you going to tell me?"

"When I was sure."

"But you've known you'd be leaving. Right from the beginning."

"No. I hoped that I would be able to take you home."

"But that's not going to happen, is it? Not soon?"

"No. It seems not."

"And they'll need you out there…hunting, or whatever it is that you do."

"Yes."

"I'll be here on my own."

Billy looks across the rooftops. Blinks a few times. Counts storks settling to roost. Listens to the evening call to prayers from the mosque minaret.

"You will have Mamoun. And Nabil."

"Not quite the same."

"Mamoun is not just a housekeeper, Sasha. He is a skilled operative, a dangerous fighter. He will teach you some fighting tricks, and he will take care of you. He will continue your firearms training."

"How long will I have to stay here?"

"Until someone comes to take you home."

"I've been running and hiding for two months already. How much longer?"

Billy slides down the roof terrace wall, to sit clasping his hands around his knees.

"I need to work, Kolya. Or I'll go nuts. I need a computer, analysis software, graphing software. Internet. I need a phone, at least."

Arkady sits beside him, shoulder and hip touching Billy's.

"Internet is not possible. I am sorry, but it is not my decision. It might be that you can have a laptop, for you to work offline. If you want to write, perhaps. A phone? Again, it is not my decision."

"Greg will have forgotten me…"

"You have been apart much longer than this before…"

"Yeah. But this time it's different. We were just starting again. I'm not sure we were really a couple again yet."

"You need something pleasant to take your mind from it. It is unfortunate we could not bring your guitar. Why do you not buy another?"

"Too noisy. Might upset the neighbours. Maybe I could get an accoustic."

"Nabil knows where all the shops are. All the craftsmen. We will have him take us to instrument makers tomorrow…"

"Luthiers. People who make guitars are called luthiers. Yeah. That'd help. Maybe I'll learn how to play the oud."

"Your French is getting better."

"Yeah. I read a whole tabloid yesterday. I can read better than I can speak. My accent is shit."

"It will still surprise Grisha when next you see him."

"He won't recognise me."

"He will. Those eyes…" Arkady catches his breath. "Your eyes would be enough for anyone to recognise you by. Even if you are a red-haired, French-speaking, sharp-shooter on a motorcycle. You must not forget sunglasses when you are outside."

Billy sits quietly for a while. Faint sounds of music and laughter carry up from the medina, and the heady scent of orange trees drifts up on the evening breeze.

"Will you sleep with me?"

Arkady blinks, swallows. The question had come out of the blue. When he answers, his voice is rough.

"No."

Billy laughs, stands and looks over the wall again. Counts more storks. It is harder to see them in the fading light.

"I thought… Never mind. Sorry."

Arkady comes to stand beside him, in the near darkness. Hands him a cigarette.

"You ask out of loneliness, not attraction for me. You would regret it."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 10th
> 
> Geneva

"Come on, up you get. A bit of fresh air will do you good."

Queenie smiles as the nurse helps her into a padded jacket.

"I thought I'd never get out of this room."

Queenie's left arm and both legs are covered tightly in compression bandages. The burns are healing well, and the bandages are being used to reduce scarring. Her chest still aches a little, more from cosmetic surgery than the gunshot wound. Her hair has been cut short, and is growing in dark. She doesn't like it, can't wait until she is home and can bleach it blonde again.

"It's a lovely day out. A bit chilly, but nice and sunny. It will lift your mood a bit, I'm sure."

The nurse helps Queenie into a wheelchair, and pushes her out into the corridor. She smiles brightly at the other nurses at the nursing station, chatters briefly in French, then wheels Queenie into the lift.

As the doors close, the nurse takes a loaded hypodermic syringe from her pocket, and quickly jabs it home into Queenie's neck, being careful to miss major veins and nerves. Queenie grunts as she feels the brief sting, then slumps slightly in the chair as she falls asleep.

When the lift doors open, the nurse wheels her sleeping charge out into the foyer. She chatters with the security guard, again in French, flirting a little bit. The guard helps her to negotiate the clinic doors.

An ambulance is waiting, rear ramp down. The nurse wheels the chair up into the rear of the ambulance, and locks it securely into the restraining bolts on the floor. She quickly puts on a high-vis jacket and overtrousers, folds up the ramp and jumps down to lock the rear doors. Once everything is secure, she climbs into the driver's seat of the ambulance and carefully drives away.

After half an hour, she pulls into a layby and gets out of the ambulance. She strips off her high-vis gear and hands the ambulance key to a young man leaning against a mint green Fiat 500.

"Take care of her. She has burns." The young man smiles

"She'll be fine."

Giulia climbs into the Fiat and drives back to Turin. The round trip has taken eight and a half hours.

Anthea is just starting to wake up when Giulia arrives home.

*********

" _You know I prefer to text, Mycroft_ "

"Sergeant Fletcher has been removed from the clinic in Geneva."

" _How could that happen?_ "

"A nurse wheeled her out of the clinic and into an ambulance. The security guard on the door remembers a nurse flirting with him. He does not clearly remember the patient in the wheelchair."

" _Flirting. A useful strategy._ "

"Yes. He helped her to open the clinic doors."

" _He has been dismissed, I hope_?"

"Of course."

" _Was Queenie expecting to be moved?_ "

"Perhaps. Or she was silenced in some way. She would not have simply sat quietly and allowed herself to be abducted."

" _When did this happen, Mycroft?_ "

"Three hours ago."

" _She could be well into France by now._ "

"Or in Italy, or still in Switzerland. She could be on her way to Germany or Lichtenstein…"

" _Too many variables. Who do you think has her?_ "

"Possibly Anthea. More likely Siger."

" _Why would Siger want Queenie Fletcher?_ "

"As a hostage. If Anthea is at large, Queenie would be the best leverage against her."

" _Why would Siger want Anthea? Oh. The flask. But surely the contents would have been corrupted by now._ "

"Not if she had already made use of them."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 27th
> 
> Toulouse

Giulia pulls the mint-green Fiat into the driveway of the old stone farmhouse. Anthea gets out and looks around.

"This is more what I expected when you pulled me out of Lausanne."

There are obvious tyre and boot marks in the gravel-and-earth driveway, lots of them. The house is large. " _Five or six rooms upstairs_ ,"Anthea estimates " _space for a task force_ ".

"Come inside. There's someone you need to meet."

Anthea stretches, and rubs her lower back where it aches from the long car journey. She badly needs to empty her bladder.

"Bathroom first, please?"

"Okay. Upstairs and turn right. You can't miss it."

_********* _

"Hello, my dear. Did you have any difficulties?"

"Hello. No. Everything's going exactly to plan, and we're past the danger point now."

"Good. Get her settled in, and we will discuss what we need to do next."

"I don't think we need much discussion. My nursing experience should be adequate, and if there are difficulties, Toulouse is only a short distance away."

"I meant, of course, what we need to do next in terms of taking the overall plan forward."

"I know. But I didn't get involved to help you with _your_ plan. I've got one of my own. Sorry."

Giulia takes her hand out of her pocket. It is holding a Glock G42.

She fires one shot.

*********

Anthea is washing her hands when she hears what sounds like a gunshot.

She quickly, carefully, walks downstairs. She cannot hear the sound of anyone running, there is no shouting either.

She wonders for a moment if she has made a mistake. " _No_ ," she thinks. " _That was definitely a shot being fired._ " She is halfway down when Giulia opens the office door and pokes her head out.

"Elena…"

"I heard a shot…"

"Yes. Little bit of unexpected trouble. It's all sorted out. Someone should be here to help me tidy up… ah, there you are."

A young man has appeared at the top of the stairs. It is the same young man that had driven an ambulance from Switzerland.

"Jamie, give me a hand here, please."

"Jamie? I thought you'd taken my place in London."

"Hello, Anthea. Oh no, it's Elena here, isn't it? Sorry."

He grins a little sheepishly.

"There are three Jamies. Mr H has got us on a rota. Doesn't want to be too reliant on one assistant, nowadays. It's handy for us, as well. Gives us a chance to get away for a few days training or a few days leave here and there. None of us wants to end up like you. Too much responsibility, no time for yourself…"

Anthea frowns. "I need to check in…"

"In a bit. Just need to help Giulia clear up in the office."

Jamie pushes past Anthea. It is a tight squeeze on the narrow staircase Anthea turns to Giulia.

"Is this who you wanted me to meet?"

Giulia giggles. "No. Someone else. I'll be with you in a minute. You go on up. Door right at the end of the corridor."

Anthea turns and hurries up the stairs. She hurries to the end of the corridor, composing a text message as she goes, on the phone she has lifted from Jamie's pocket.

She opens the door and adds two words to the message before sending it. She waits a beat, sees the "delivered" message. She deletes the sent text and switches off the phone.

She enters the room, crosses to the open window and throws the phone as far from the house as she can. It drops into shrubbery. She hopes it will remain hidden for a while.

Anthea turns to the occupant of the room, who has been watching her silently. She sits carefully on the edge of the bed.

"Hello."


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 27th
> 
> London

**To: MH: Code 7red AS. Do not reply to this number. With hostile code name Giulia Murtas in Toulouse. JG possibly hostile. Unknown number of other hostiles. Queenie's here. AS. JG**

Mycroft reads the text message twice more before he calls Sherlock.

*********

"Giulia Murtas? Who is Giulia Murtas?"

"Someone I had hoped not to hear from again. She has a number of aliases. The last one you knew her by was Mary Watson."

Sherlock is uncharacteristically lost for words. Mycroft allows the silence to continue for a minute or so, then clears his throat.

"Sherlock…"

"I assumed she was being held somewhere, Mycroft. How long has she been free?"

"She has never been in custody. You made it very clear that you wanted her to be untainted by your action against Magnussen…"

"She has stayed under the radar since December 2016. That's two and a half _years_ , Mycroft. Why would she surface now?"

"I do not know."

"Can we assume she is working for Siger?"

"It seems likely. Anthea said only "Toulouse" in her message, but given that we know Siger uses a house in Toulouse…"

"Hmph. Did you tell your assistants that I was investigating the Toulouse connection?"

"No. I have kept as much as possible of this project on a 'need to know' basis. Jamie Griers is our pivot point, evidently. He went with me to Geneva. Anthea used his phone to get her message to me, and he has been on Alpine training for the last fortnight."

"He would have been handily situated to help with transferring Queenie from Geneva. Why didn't Anthea get a message out sooner?"

"She used code 7red…"

"Emergency break of security. She had been under instruction to run dark…"

"Indeed. Presumably that instruction would have appeared to come from me, via Jamie. Something must have spooked her."

Sherlock paces for a while. Mycroft recognises the signs of intense mental activity.

"Mycroft, does John know Mary has been at large all this time?"

"No, Sherlock. I am certain he does not."

"Hmph. I have to go to France."

"Yes. But you must not go alone. We do not know how many hostiles there are…"

"Six, I think. Plus Siger, possibly. Plus Jamie plus Mary. So nine in total."

"How can you be so certain?"

"I saw signs of occupancy in the Toulouse property, before the attack on Lausanne. No more than ten different sets of prints. I looked very carefully. They included prints from a man in dress shoes and a very obvious prints from a woman."

"Siger and Mary, plus…troopers, I suppose we can call them. So ten hostiles."

"Eleven. Jamie was not in Toulouse at that time."

"Of course. He was here."

"There was one truck, one 4 by 4 and two motorcycles. The truck would have carried equipment. There would be a driver, and a guard. There might have been one or two more men in the back of the truck, but no more."

"That accounts for four. A driver and a guard plus Mary and Siger in the 4 by 4 gives us eight. Two motorcyclists."

"Plus the helicopter pilot and gunner. Thirteen in all."

"Ah, yes. They would have been based in Lyon, not Toulouse."

"Yes."

"But Sherlock, there could have been more in Lyon."

"Unlikely. I did not find evidence of more. And Siger has finite resources. His research has not been popular in a long time. He has probably not made any new money for even longer."

"I need to investigate his financial situation further. It is difficult to divert department resources covertly though…"

"Put Theo on it. Finance investigations are his forté. I assume you did bring him back to be part of this?"

"Yes. It will be a good test of his skills. I have someone in mind he could work with."

Sherlock smiles "Jack must have made some useful contacts in the last few years. The City of London Police have all sorts of financial expertise…"

Mycroft gives a pained sigh.

"Oh, please, Mycroft. You don't really think I would miss that, do you?"

Sherlock walks across Mycroft's drawing room to the drinks cabinet. It has very recently been replenished with very good malt whisky. He raises an eyebrow at the label.

"Tullibardine? This is good, even by your standards."

He pours two glasses. Mycroft swirls his, watching the early evening light glint in the crystal facets.

"Gregor bought me a bottle, a few years ago. I discovered a liking for it."

Sherlock sips his appreciatively.

"Mm. Toffee, and a hint of apricot. Smooth. It must have cost him several days' pay."

"Yes. It was more than I expected. We had a bet involving the procurement of papal socks, as I recall."

Sherlock laughs.

"You obviously won. So, if Theo and Jack are going to look at Siger's finances…"

"Mary's too, of course. And Jamie's."

"Yes, of course. You will be here, pulling all the strings together as usual. Anthea is obviously out of commission at the moment."

"What is on your mind, Sherlock?"

"Hmm. Thinking. Lestrade is not going to be up to a trip like this. Not with a recent head injury…"

"He would not be my choice to accompany you in any case. He is beginning to show his age, Sherlock."

Sherlock sips his whisky again. His voice trembles.

"I know. And I hate it. Fifty four _isn't_ old."

"No. Not in most lines of work. In any case, he is busy, training new young blood for you to terrorise."

"Yes. DC Thompkiss shows promise. Once he gets out from Sally Donovan's sphere of influence…"

"Take Arkady."

"Billy needs Arkady."

"Bill is in a safe house, and he has Mamoun. This should not take long, Sherlock. Then Bill can come home."

Sherlock muses

"There were at least two hostiles in the body count at Lausanne. I took one out in Barcelona, and another in Madrid. That leaves Siger, Mary, Jamie and six unknowns, assuming that the men from the helicopter are still around."

"Anthea and Queenie are there…"

"Can we assume Anthea will help us?"

"Why would she have contacted me otherwise?"

"Who knows? Queenie was badly injured. I have to discount her, Mycroft. And I have to treat Anthea as potentially hostile until I know otherwise."

"Of course. Jamie is a good shot, but unimaginative. Siger is old."

"But possibly desperate. Desperation can make a fighter out of anyone. Mary is an assassin, of course, and a very good one. I need another gun, Mycroft. If only John…"

"No."

"I know. I'm just thinking. And I know he could not be used for this, anyway, even if he were well."

"I cannot commit anyone else from the department to this enterprise, Sherlock."

"Give me Theo, then. The financial aspect of this is not so urgent."

"Are you sure?" "He is good, Mycroft. And loyal. And he will not hesitate to shoot. You have seen him in action."

"Yes. All right. I will brief him."

"Have him meet me late on the 29th or early on the 30th. Le Sequestre. It's close enough, but not right on top of Toulouse. Provide us with a suitable vehicle. We might need to sleep in it. Arrange it yourself, Mycroft. No more Jamies, please. Let me know once everything is arranged. I will collect Arkady, and we will fly out of Menara. Billy will have to cope without him for a while."

"Wouldn't it be better for you to fly out with Theo and have Arkady meet you in France?"

"No. Theo might want to have a bit of time on the firing range before he leaves. And I want to see Billy. Just in case…"

"Sentiment, brother?"

"Perhaps."


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 27th
> 
> Marrakech

" _How is the firearms training coming along?_ "

"He learns quickly. He hits the target with every shot now. Not always centred, but he has a steady hand. He does not like guns, though. I hope he will not allow his dislike to deter him from using one if he needs to."

" _And the other training?_ "

"You Holmeses learn everything rapidly. He is reading the French newspapers now. Mostly the tabloids, but he attempts the broadsheets. He speaks a little and understands enough to get by. His accent is atrocious. Nabil is helping him with practice."

Arkady laughs

"He is riding the moped quite well, but he has not had much practice yet. He will be ready to step up to a larger machine in a week or two, I think. Mamoun is teaching him how to cook, and he is teaching himself to play the oud. He draws a lot. He has a notebook full of what looks to me like advanced mathematics. He will not discuss that with me. He seems to be busy all the time. But he is not happy."

" _Happiness is not necessary, Arkady."_

"He is lonely, Mycroft. And he wants to work. I think he has something in his mind, but he has no access to data, to journals."

" _That cannot be helped. He can work when he returns to London. At least he is safe. And you will not be worried about leaving him._ "

"Will I be redeployed soon?"

" _Yes. There has been a development in France. Sherlock will be with you the day after tomorrow. You will leave with him."_

*********

"Sasha, are you awake?"

Billy gets up and opens the door to let Arkady in.

"What's up?"

"I have had a call from Mycroft. I will be leaving in two days."

"No. That's too soon."

"I agree. But it is what will happen."

"Where are you going?"

"I cannot tell you, Billi. It would not be safe for you to know."

"What will I do?"

"Continue practicing shooting, riding the motorcycle, speaking French. Pack a small bag in case you need to leave here in a hurry. Keep your gun at hand. Make sure you have cash."

"Am I in danger again?"

"Not at the moment, I think. But I have told you before, it is better to be prepared than not. If you leave, go to Gibraltar. Mycroft has influence there. And in the meantime, make sure you eat and sleep properly. Keep your strength up."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep. I know I won't."

Arkady looks at Billy, sees how tense he is.

"Come here, sit."

Billy sits on the edge of the bed. Arkady climbs up to kneel behind him, grips his shoulders, massaging the tense muscles. Billy sighs.

"Your hands are warm. That feels good."

Arkady rests his forehead against the back of Billy's head and hums quietly.

"What is that?"

Arkady stops humming.

"A lullaby."

"It's nice. Has it got words?"

"Da"

Arkady sings, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

"Стану я тоской томиться, Безутешно ждать;

Стану целый день молиться, По ночам гадать;

Стану думать, что скучаешь Ты в чужом краю...

Спи ж, пока забот не знаешь, Баюшки-баю."

"What does it mean?"

"It is a mother singing to her son. She worries about him being alone, in danger in a foreign land. She misses him…"

His voice breaks. He grips Billy's shoulders tight. "I will miss you, Billi. When this is all over, I will come and find you. Perhaps you will be pleased to see me."

Billy grits his teeth.

"Don't promise. Then you won't have to feel bad later."

Arkady pats Billy's shoulder and moves away from him. He stands and opens the door.

"One day you will learn to trust me. Try to sleep now."

After Arkady leaves him, Billy sits for a little while, picking out the melody of the lullaby on his oud. He plays for a while, writing an arrangement for the song in his head, then sighs and puts the instrument down. He wishes he had his guitar. He likes the sound of the oud, but knows he is far from skilled at playing it.

He searches his pockets for his iPod, but can't find it. He checks under the bed and in the bathroom. No luck. He hopes he hasn't left it on the roof to get rained on. He wishes for the umpteenth time that he had a phone. He wants to download new music almost as much as he wants to talk to Lestrade. In the end he gives up and goes to bed.

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arkady sings verse four of [this Russian lullaby, Bayushki-Bayu](http://youtu.be/l-CkCDug6rs)
> 
> Stanu ja toskoj tomit’sja, Bezutešno ždat’;   
> Stanu celyj den’ molit’sja, Po nočam gadat’;   
> Stanu dumat’, čto skučaeš’ Ty v čužom kraju...   
> Spi ž, poka zabot ne znaeš’, Bajuški-baju. 
> 
> I will die from yearning, Inconsolably waiting, I'll pray the whole day long, And at night I'll wonder, I'll think that you're in trouble Far away in a strange land. Sleep now, as long as you know no sorrows, Bayushki bayu. "


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 29th
> 
> Marrakech

Billy is wakened early by Nabil.

"Monsier Sasha, Monsieur Sasha, un visiteur!"

Billy rolls over and opens one eye.

"What? Qu'est-ce? Qui est venu?"

"Monsieur Sigerson. Il est en bas."

Billy gets up and dresses quickly. Sigerson? _Sherlock_. Perhaps he has come to take him home.

He follows Nabil downstairs.

Arkady and Sherlock are sitting comfortably drinking tea in the courtyard. Sherlock smiles.

"Hello Sasha. You're looking well. Kolya tells me you are becoming a crack shot."

"Hello, um… Vishka?"

Sherlock nods.

"And a bit of a biker, too? He's pleased with your progress."

"Yeah. I prefer the bike to the gun. Didn't expect to see you today…"

"I'm stealing Kolya from you. I'm sorry I have to, but I need him more than you do at the moment."

"Oh. I thought maybe…"

Sherlock looks at Billy sympathetically. "It isn't safe for you to go home yet, Sasha. I'm sorry."

Sherlock hands Billy a brown hand-tooled leather bag. Its long strap will fit across his body, and there is a belt attached, to fit around his waist.

"It's camel leather. Softer, and more practical than an ordinary bag when you are riding a motorcycle. The waist strap will hold it securely. There are a few things inside it. Presents. Have a look in private after we're gone."

Arkady smiles at Billy.

"I should not be gone long. A week or two. When I come back…" He falters, seeing Billy scowl. "Promises. I know."

He rummages in his pocket, pulls out Billy's iPod.

"You should not leave this lying about. You will lose it."

Billy smiles tightly. "You pinched it…"

"Da."

"And you expect me to trust you?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

"Don't be snippy, Sasha. He is not your enemy."

"He's not exactly my friend, either."

Arkady stands and walks along the corridor to the street door of the riad to load up his motorcycle. Billy's words have stung. He doesn't want him or Sherlock to see how much. Sherlock peers at Billy through narrowed eyes.

"He is. Believe me, he is. And he would be more if you would let him."

Billy laughs harshly.

"No. I've tested that theory. Got put in my place. He's not interested."

"Perhaps he misunderstood your…test."

"I don't think so. Does Greg miss me, do you think?"

"I'm obviously not very good with people, Sasha. I clearly make mistakes when it comes to feelings."

"You're hedging. It's been months. He's moved on, hasn't he? Is it Theo?"

"I don't think so. I don't know. I haven't been looking for signs… I haven't seen much of him."

Billy bites his lip.

"The Major's been in contact with him. At least, I think he has. He hasn't passed on any messages to me."

Arkady comes back to the courtyard in time to hear Billy refer to him as 'the Major'. It hurts.

"There have been no messages, Alexander. When you see him again, you will have to ask him why."

He nods to Sherlock. "I am ready to leave."

Sherlock hugs Billy.

"It will all be over soon. Try not to let things get to you."

"Yeah. All right."

Billy's mouth feels very dry. He licks his lips and tastes blood. His bottom lip stings where he has opened up an old scar. He turns to walk away, then thinks better of it.

He turns back and walks across the courtyard to where Arkady is standing, arms crossed defensively, face frozen.

Billy holds out his hand. It hangs there. He doesn't pull it back.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Arkady hesitates a beat longer, then takes his hand and pulls him in to hug him tightly.

"Я твой друг, Билли. Пожалуйста, не ненавидеть меня."

Billy hugs back.

"YA tvoy drug. I'm your friend. I know, Kady. Stay safe."

"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA tvoy drug, Billi. Pozhalustya, ne nenavidet' menya." 
> 
> "I am your friend, Billy. Please do not hate me."


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 5th
> 
> Toulouse

The surveillance of the house in Toulouse throws up some surprises.

The first is that there are not as many hired guns as Sherlock and Arkady had expected. Of the original task force, only two gunmen and Mary Watson remain. Siger had either run out of money or run out of loyalty.

One of the gunmen is the would-be assassin from Paris, the man who had stabbed Anthea. The other is an unknown face. Not particularly skilled. Arkady removes them both from the picture, quickly and efficiently.

The last time Sherlock and Arkady has seen Anthea and Queenie, they had both looked very different.

Queenie's bright blonde hair is back to its original, natural mid -brown. She has some visible scars, but most are hidden by the pressure bandages. She is confined to a basic wheelchair, and to the upper storey of the house, where Arkady and Dimmock find her.

She is being guarded by Jamie, not well. Jamie obviously feels important to Mary Watson, and to her mission. Mary disabuses him of that impression when she reacts matter-of-factly to Dimmock shooting and seriously wounding him.

The eventual standoff, Mary against Sherlock, is inevitable. Mary tries to use Anthea, and her starting-to-be obvious pregnancy, as a hostage. She thinks Anthea will be a co-operative hostage, because she also has Queenie.

Sherlock engages enthusiastically In conversation with Mary. He is interested in gathering as much data as he can.

Mary believes there is a precedent for negotiations with the Holmes brothers. She lets her guard down. Queenie sees her moment and takes it.

*********

"But where did she get the gun?"

Dimmock is still reeling from the speed at which it all happened.

Sherlock smiles tightly.

"Anthea is very, very, good. She saw an opportunity to appropriate a handgun, and hid it right out in the open. If only our oh-so-macho males had thought to search Queenie properly when they first noticed it missing, they might have found it."

"Not sure I understand…"

"Ask her. I'm sure she would love to explain. She's very good, too. Make it fast, though. You'll be out of here this evening."

"Where am I going?"

"Straight back to London, with your wounded captive. Mycroft wants to interview him. "

"What about you and Arkady?"

"I will be here, keeping an eye on Anthea and Queenie until Mycroft's people get here with appropriate transport. Arkady is going to Morocco."

"Oh. Of course. To collect Billy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about Mary, everyone. She had to be one of the bad guys in this. There will be more about why as the saga continues.


End file.
